Soup
by Zellcan'twrite
Summary: Nobody's healthy all the time. Good thing Amy, Rory and the Doctor have one another to take care of them when they're sick. Three flashfic sickfics. Mild Amy/Rory. Warning: major fluff and lots of cheesiness.
1. Chapter 1

**1**

"Sorry, Doctor," Rory said apologetically. "It's, erm, not a good day today."

The bowtie-clad Timelord began to push past him, clearly not understanding the statement his friend had just made. Or perhaps he did, and simply didn't care.

"We can't come with you today, Doctor," the human repeated, a little bit more impatiently.

"Of course you can! Have you got something going on? I can travel in time, remember? We can see all of time and space and you'll still arrive in time for tea!" The Doctor declared, waving a hand around impatiently.

"Amy's sick, Doctor. No running for her today," Rory explained further.

The realization hit the Time Lord, and he stopped, staring at Rory as though he had just proclaimed to have grown a third eye.

"It's, erm, something we humans do from time to time. Get sick, I mean," Rory continued to elaborate. The Doctor, meanwhile, continued to stare. Then, as if struck by a sudden inspiration, he turned and whirled around, getting into the TARDIS without a backwards glance.

Rory sighed. Not that he'd expect the Doctor to stick around. He walked slowly up the stairs to his and Amy's room, pausing only for a second when he was _sure_ he heard the TARDIS again. Even if he had, what good would that do? He and Amy had received two visits from the Doctor on the same day, usually when he'd been traveling alone for a long while and lost track of the last time he'd been by for a visit. He didn't feel like brushing the Doctor off again.

"I thought I heard the-" Amy began sitting up slowly due to a pounding headache and dizziness. However, she was cut off by a fit of coughing before she could get any further.

"Don't worry about it," Rory quickly jumped in, at her side in a moment. While Amy was hardly at death's door, the flu wasn't exactly a comfortable thing for her or anyone else to deal with. Rory reached for the glass of water on her bedside table, prepared to hold it up to her lips as soon as the fit passed.

Before he could, however, they both became aware of the sound of the door slamming, then of a pair of feet racing up their steps. The bedroom door suddenly flew open, and there stood the Doctor in all his disheveled, bow tie-clad glory.

Rory exhaled slowly. Yes, judging from the excited expression on his face, he'd lost track of the time again.

"Doctor, I told you less than a minute ago by my clock-"

"Yes, yes. Amy's sick and all that. Good; that means I didn't overshoot my time frame," the Doctor cut him off, waving a hand absentmindedly. That's when both Amy and Rory realized his other hand was otherwise occupied, holding a container of…something.

"What's that, Doctor?" Amy asked.

"Soup," he replied as though it were obvious. "Soup for you, Amelia Pond. I'm the Doctor; in English, that means the healer of the sick. Let me go warm some up for you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> _Hi, guys. I'm afraid I've been on a rather long hiatus, but I can explain. I've had an incredibly stressful fall, moreso than usual. However, I sent off my college applications recently (now you all generally have an idea of how old I am. Yay), and will now try to return to my weekly posting schedule. Wish me luck._

_Anyway, here's the first of three drabbles centering on Eleven, Amy and Rory taking care of one another while one of them is ill. __I've wanted to try my hand at writing a sickfic for a long time now, and this is my first stab at it. _

_Enjoy, and please review!_


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

"Of course you had to take care of me like some noble idiot, and now I'm mostly better and you're the sick one," grumbled Amy Pond.

Rory, uncharacteristically for his part, didn't respond. He was too busy trembling with chills to do much more than think about getting warm.

Amy drew the blankets closer around her husband, then placed a cool cloth on his forehead to combat the raging fever he also had. If he were healthy and his teeth weren't chattering like a parade of maracas, he might have been able to explain to her exactly why fevers made you feel hot and cold at the same time. As it was, he was feeling exactly that, with a healthy side of misery added on.

"Here. Let me go get you some water," she declared, gently smoothing his hair back from his forehead and going out towards the kitchen. She felt at least partially responsible; after all, he had cared for her while she was ill. It was silly of her, she knew, and could practically hear Rory scolding her for feeling that way. Perhaps he would've still gotten sick. Sicknesses tended to run in the family like that. Even so, she knew for a fact that he _was_ sick after having cared for her.

It was then that she heard the TARDIS, evidently materializing in her back garden. Most of the time, the sound made her heart accelerate and brought a smile to her face. It meant that her best friend was visiting, and bringing a whole host of adventures with him. However, today, it made her pinch the bridge of her nose.

Within less than three seconds (or so it seemed), the Doctor was standing in her kitchen next to her as she hunted for a glass for Rory.

"Come along, Pond! We've got so much to see!" he cried excitedly. "The planets are aligning in the Zetakaid system, and there's a star being born, and I _still_ haven't been to Barcelona and I've been wanting to do that for a few hundred years, and-"

"Sorry, Doctor," she cut him off, watching his face switch from excitement to surprise. Rory rejecting a trip in the TARDIS was at least vaguely believable, but the Girl Who Waited doing the exact same thing was one of those nigh-impossible things the Doctor could hardly believe he'd just heard. "Remember my flu from a week ago? Rory's got it now, worse than I did."

She coughed into her sleeve, forcibly remembering that she wasn't fully recovered herself.

"Oh. Alright, then. Back to bed, Amy," he declared, taking her by the hand and leading her up the stairs.

"But Rory needs water-"

"I'll get that. Just close your eyes and count to twenty once you're back in bed," he said, throwing the bedroom door. "Oh, sorry, Rory!" he apologized a moment later as the miserable human clutched his head and shut his eyes at the sudden onslaught of sound and light. Gently, he led Amy to the free side of the bed, laid her down, and disappeared again.

Amy hadn't even reached 'eleven' when he reappeared in the door, excitedly holding out a tray balanced with two bowls of soup and a glass of water with a small umbrella in it. _How very Doctor-ish_, she reflected, a small smile on her face.

"Here, for both of you!" he exclaimed, setting down the tray on Amy's bedside table. "Now eat up-drink up-whichever it is-your soup." With that, he put a bowl in her lap and a spoon in her hand.

"But Rory-"

"Don't worry, Amelia. I'll look after him," he reassured her, picking the water glass up and moving to the other side of the bed. "Now drink up, Rory."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> _I didn't realize until I saw a Doctor Who-related article this morning that it's birthday time again. Happy 51st, Doctor Who. May you have many more.__  
><em>

_Anyway, I wasn't going to post the next part of this little drabble series until next Saturday, as I missed the mark this weekend and want to stick to a Saturday evening posting schedule. However, since it's the 23rd of November, this is my little tribute to this special day. Enjoy!_

_Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think the Doctor has been to Barcelona yet, thus the reference. If I'm wrong, please let me know._


End file.
